Xelda: Warrior Princess?, chapter 6
by VP19
Summary: Xena agrees to run track to avoid detention from Mr. Kraft; Callisto runs off with the "oracle" Salem; Hilda debates her relationship with Joxer; Xelda enters a cave to search for ambrosia; Sabrina's spell makes Gabrielle a sports editor.


Xelda, Warrior Princess?  
  
Chapter 6  
  
  
"I still can't believe that the two of you would get into a scuffle on   
your first day in an American school!" Willard Kraft said, shaking his head.   
"Being an exchange student is an honor."  
  
Yeah, right, Sabrina thought as she walked alongside her two companions,   
a step ahead of the vice principal. But she couldn't help but reflect on the   
absurd irony of it all--Xena, the warrior princess, scourge of warlords, heading   
off to detention.  
  
Finally, they reached his office and marched in. "Now I want the three   
of you to sit down for a few minutes while I attend to another matter," he said.   
"Don't try anything--the door is open and the receptionist is out here. Right,   
Marianne?"   
  
"That's right, sir," a fiftyish woman replied.  
  
"Excuse me, please," Willard said, heading down the hall carrying a bag.   
  
Xena sat down and crossed her legs gingerly. Then she began to slowly   
hike her dress above her knee. Sitting next to her, Sabrina initially thought   
her friend was scratching. Then, the oldies radio station playing in Mr. Kraft's   
office played the plaintive opening vocal of Gary Puckett:   
  
"Young girl--get out of my mind...My love for you is way outta   
line...Better run, girl...You're much too young, girl..."   
  
So that's what Xena is up to, Sabrina thought, planning to use her   
feminine wiles on Mr. Kraft! Her suspicions were confirmed by the look in Xena's   
eyes; they were rehearsing seduction--that was seemingly pretty obvious to   
Gabrielle, too. As much as Sabrina loathed Willard Kraft, she realized nothing   
good at all could come out of this. Perhaps Xena's techniques could work on a   
warlord, but in this world, where she was perceived as a teenager, she would   
only bring Mr. Kraft into the depths of scandal. Aunt Zelda, who inexplicably   
adored Willard, would be furious--with both him and Sabrina.   
  
What to do? Sabrina wondered. Then she had an idea. She subtly pointed   
at the hem of Xena's dress, and it began to lengthen...suddenly it was two or   
three inches below the knee. Xena stared at what had happened, turned around and   
looked quizzically at the young witch. Sabrina responded with a "don't you dare"   
glance.   
  
"I think you've forgotten about that perception spell," Gabrielle   
whispered to her friend.  
  
Sabrina breathed a sigh of relief that one of them, at least, understood   
the situation.  
  
"Remember, he sees you as a teenager," Sabrina picked up the   
explanation. "So, what you were going to try...not a good thing. Besides, it   
wouldn't have worked anyway-his name's Willard, not Humbert."  
  
"Humbert?" Xena asked in puzzlement.  
  
"The old man in that book by Nabokov," Sabrina explained, involuntarily   
lapsing into her best Sting impression.  
  
By this time, Mr. Kraft had returned to the office. He was no longer in   
shirt and tie, but instead was wearing grey pants and a sweatshirt with   
"WESTBRIDGE TRACK" emblazoned in green. "With Mrs. Castle on maternity leave, as   
you know I'm coaching the girls' track and field team on an interim basis," the   
vice principal explained. "Have a meet here this afternoon, and we have to plan   
to it. But first, there's this little matter of detention."   
  
"I'm ready to take my medicine," Sabrina said. "So are my companions,   
I'm sure." Xena and Gabrielle nodded.   
  
"Very good, then. Your assignment today is--"   
  
But before Willard could reveal the punishment, a woman walked into his   
office. It was Tara Hastings. "Oh, I see you've met Zee," she said with   
enthusiasm. "What are they doing here?"   
  
"I was just about to give them--"   
  
"Will you see me in private for a minute?" Coach Hastings, looking   
admiringly at Xena, said to Mr. Kraft. "This is important. Meet me in the   
outside hall."   
  
He complied. "What's going on here?" he whispered when he got there.   
  
"This Zee is the greatest woman athlete I have ever seen, or at least   
the greatest basketball player. She can shoot, rebound, block shots." She   
pleaded. "If you discipline her, she might transfer out of district and the Lady   
Scallions will continue to struggle."   
  
"That good, huh?"   
  
Coach Hastings nodded. "I bet she is as good in track as she is in   
basketball."   
  
Kraft smiled. "We will soon find out. If you're sending me a bill of   
goods, don't expect to be coaching hoops here next season."   
  
They returned to the office.   
  
"Zee," Willard said, "I have been told you have some abilities in track   
and field. I will drop all disciplinary action here against all three of you if   
Zee competes for Westbridge in our track meet today."  
  
A reprieve from the governor, Sabrina thought to herself.   
  
"It's a deal," Xena said.  
  
"Good. Now the three of you, return to your respective classes, and I   
will see you at the track two hours from now, Zee." Kraft reached for the radio   
and changed the station, just as the Partridge Family's "I Think I Love You"   
began.  
  
Sabrina and friends walked down the hall. "Now aren't you glad you   
didn't try to seduce him?" she quietly said to Xena.  
  
"Well, to be honest with you, I don't care that much for men--"  
  
Hmm, Sabrina pondered, I guess there is something to all that subtext   
talk.  
  
"--with mustaches," Xena finished her sentence.  
  
Or maybe not, Sabrina thought. The great debate continues...  
  
* * *  
  
"Here we are," Jett declared, striking a dramatic pose beside the mouth   
of the cave, "the entrance to the resting place of the food of the gods!"  
  
How many prepositions were in that sentence? Xelda thought with   
bemusement.  
  
"Many people have tried to claim the ambrosia," Jett continued, "but all   
have failed!" Try to keep the speech more like Joxer would, he reminded himself.   
"Well, maybe 'all' is a bit of an exaggeration...I mean, you hear rumors. Like, I   
know this innkeeper who has a friend whose brother showed him..."  
  
"I understand the dangers," Xelda said. At least, she hoped she did. She   
wished she'd paid more attention when Salem was watching his program. She   
couldn't remember whether the show was just relatively innocent adventure, or   
whether anyone ever actually got killed in it. Was it TV-PG or TV-14? Even being   
a scientific genius, she could never keep those ratings straight.  
  
"Of course," Jett continued, "no danger is too great for Joxer the   
mighty!" Careful, he reminded himself, just enough bravado to convince her   
you're Joxer...not so much that she'd actually want you to go in. So, he deflated   
his own boast by pounding his chest and going into a coughing fit. He doubled   
over and fell into an ungainly somersault. That should keep me out of the cave,   
he thought.  
  
"Thank you, Joxer," Xelda sighed, "but I think I can handle the   
situation." Odd, she thought, he shouldn't be acting that way. Maybe our spells   
aren't as powerful in this world. Maybe the spell only makes him a true warrior   
when he's actually fighting. In any case, I'd better not chance him hurting   
himself in there.  
  
"Between my new athletic prowess and my good old-fashioned   
powers..." She pointed towards her left hand, and a torch instantly materialized   
in it. "...I think I've got it covered."  
  
Jett's mouth gaped. A witch! He remained speechless as Xelda steeled   
herself and entered the cave, and even after she had vanished from his sight.   
Hmm, he pondered as soon as he'd recovered from the initial shock, perhaps she   
can get the ambrosia after all...  
  
* * *  
  
"You know something, Hilda?" Joxer said to his companion as they walked   
ever closer to the cave. "You're special...very special." With that, he slowly   
turned his face towards hers, stared into her eyes and flashed an affectionate   
smile.  
  
Hilda was touched and grinned in return. Amazing, she thought, simply   
amazing.  
  
The two sides of her personality began an internal clash, which didn't   
agree with her system. So Hilda zapped them outside, perching them on each   
shoulder, two tiny Hildas visible only to her. The only thing they're missing   
are the angel and devil outfits, she thought.  
  
"After all these years, you've finally found the man of your dreams--and   
he's fictional!" the pessimistic Hilda said. "What kind of future could you have   
with him?"  
  
"Oh, come on," Hilda the optimist retorted. "He's crazy about me, I for   
him, what's not to like? And someday I will be Mrs. Hilda...er..."  
  
"See? They don't even have last names here!"  
  
"Well, he could adopt my last name--Joxer Spellman. Has a nice ring to   
it, and having the groom take the bride's name is well, sort of trendy."  
  
In between her two miniature warring selves, Hilda listened to the   
back-and-forth conversation. It felt like one of those early stereo   
demonstration LPs with the ping-pong from left to right channel and back again.  
  
"Do you really think you could be the wife of a warrior," the pessimist   
asked, "even one as inept as Joxer?"  
  
"You learn to let your heart overrule your head every now and then," the   
optimist answered.  
  
"I think we both remember what happened the last time you did that."  
  
"Yeah, back in the 1800s when I developed a crush on Gen. Tom Thumb at   
Barnum's Museum. If I had any courage back then, I would've married him, but   
no--I just couldn't handle the demands of a relationship with a military man."  
  
The real Hilda nodded regretfully. That won't happen again, she thought   
to herself as she looked to her shoulder, stared at her pessimist self, then   
flicked her off like a bad strain of dandruff. "I did throw the correct one off,   
didn't I?" she softly asked, turning to the other shoulder.  
  
"Yep," the optimist replied. "Now where would you want to have the   
honeymoon?"  
  
Hmmm..., she thought. Someplace in the Other Realm might be nice, like   
Ten Mile Falls, where dad and mom went on their honeymoon back in 1147...  
  
"Hilda," Joxer said, "we're getting closer to the mountain. Hope Salem   
or your sister is there."  
  
* * *  
  
"So, kitty," Callisto smirked as she rode, "you haven't said one word   
since I took you. Are you really an oracle, or was that just another of   
Salmoneus' tricks?"  
  
Loosely tucked in the saddlebag, Salem remained silent, hoping she'd let   
him go.  
  
"If you are an oracle, I know I could find some use for you one way or   
another. Of course, if you're just a regular cat, I don't have any use for you,   
so--hkkkk!" she drew a finger across her throat in the classic gesture.  
  
"Silence is golden," Salem blurted out, "but my eyes still see."  
  
"That's better," Callisto gloated. "So, how about using those powers of   
yours to foresee the outcomes of some battles? If I knew which side was going to   
win--or, more importantly, which side will pay better--it'll help me decide   
where to offer my services."  
  
Uh-oh, Salem thought, I do know what's going to happen in future   
episodes, but if I tell Callisto, I could change everything! Callisto might   
actually win! My only hope is to be even more cryptic and incomprehensible than   
ever. This is a job for...They Might Be Giants!  
  
"So," Callisto continued, "can I get a straight answer out of you, or do   
you only talk in riddles?"  
  
"Oh, do not forsake me," Salem replied, "though you know I must spend   
all my waking hours talking like this, for I am one thousand years old."  
  
"One thousand years old?" Callisto gave an impressed whistle. "Sure, I'd   
say that's old. Anyway, if you're so old and wise and all-knowing, I'm sure you   
know who I am, and what I can do to you."  
  
"Big men often tremble as they step aside," Salem intoned, paraphrasing   
slightly, "You're actual size, but you seem much bigger."  
  
Callisto's nose crinkled as she smiled. "I suppose that's one way of   
putting it. Getting back to those battles...there's a certain general I know who   
wants to launch a campaign against the Turks. Any advice?"  
  
Salem desperately tried to recall where Turkey (was it even called   
Turkey in ancient times?) was in relation to Greece. Did they share a border?   
Was there a sea between them? Another country? Why didn't I pay more attention   
in Mortal Realm Geography 101?, he thought. He tried to call up a mental image   
of a map, to no avail. Suddenly, struck by inspiration, he thought back to his   
favorite episodes of Where in the World Is Carmen Sandiego? Ah, there it is!  
  
"Once," Salem proclaimed, "a boy named Mr. Me bemoaned a great regret.   
He floundered in the misty sea, but can't abide its mystery. He wound up sad,   
you bet."  
  
"Hmm," Callisto muttered as she tried to unravel Salem's parable, "a   
land campaign, then." Her nose twitched more noticeably, and she suddenly   
inhaled sharply, her face twisting up as if suppressing a sneeze.  
  
Does that mean what I think it means? Salem wondered. Could the fearsome   
Callisto possibly be allergic to cats? There might just be a way out of this   
after all...  
  
* * *  
  
It was time for lunch, and Sabrina led Xena and Gabrielle into the   
cafeteria. "Hope they have something good today," she said, recalling   
yesterday's entree of pot roast that virtually nobody liked. Fortunately, with   
one discreet zap she was able to make it taste like turkey.  
  
Fortunately, today's entree was more to her liking--a cheeseburger on   
sourdough bread, with creamed spinach as the vegetable. Hope Xena and Gabrielle   
find it acceptable, Sabrina thought.  
  
After they went through the line, Sabrina went to her usual seat, saw   
Valerie in the corner of her eye and waved her over. "Hey, how you folks doing?"   
Val asked as she took a seat.  
  
"Okay, I guess," Sabrina said.  
  
"You guys enjoying school in America?" Val asked, staring at the two   
Greek newcomers.  
  
"I think we're learning something," Xena said calmly.  
  
"She'll be running track this afternoon," Sabrina added, though she   
didn't divulge the circumstances that led to it.  
  
"Great. A sports story." Val sighed. "If we only had a sports editor."  
  
A smile crossed Sabrina's face. Gabrielle's a bard--let's see her write,   
she thought. So she pointed at her companion and chanted under her breath, "She   
is a genius at ancient reports, let's give her knowledge to current-day sports."   
A point, and Gabrielle began talking.  
  
"You looking for a sports editor? I can fill it," she told Valerie.  
  
"But you're from Greece!"  
  
"I think it's no secret that the most important quality of a leadoff man   
is to go deep into the count, thus improving his on-base percentage while   
showing the rest of the team the opposing pitcher's stuff," Gabrielle said   
authoritatively. "Batting average means nothing for a leadoff hitter if he   
doesn't draw plenty of walks. Look how the Yankees acquiring Chuck Knoblauch   
helped Derek Jeter, who was too impatient to bat leadoff. But he's a superb   
number-two hitter, perhaps the best in the game."  
  
Sabrina smiled. "She listens to a lot of shortwave radio."  
  
Xena stared at Gabrielle. They'd experienced some odd things in this new   
land, but nothing was stranger than seeing her friend and companion suddenly   
speak in tongues. It seemed to be the same language they always used, but these   
bizarre words...  
  
"What in Zeus' name are you talking about?" Xena asked. "I didn't   
understand a single word of that."  
  
"But it's not a mutual hobby of theirs," Sabrina explained.  
  
Val nodded. "Gabrielle, the job is yours. Can you cover that track meet   
today?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Very good." Val turned to Sabrina. "Want to go to the mall with me   
after school? Summer's coming up and I need to buy a swimsuit." She giggled.   
"Maybe a two-piece."  
  
"Bikini? No way," Sabrina scoffed. "You'll never catch me in one.   
Maxim-um embarrassment."  
  
DISCLAIMER: The music of Gary Puckett & The Union Gap, the Partridge Family, the   
Four Seasons and They Might Be Giants, and the literature of Vladimir Nabokov   
were not harmed in the production of this chapter. However, several magazines   
(which shall remain nameless) did suffer some mild humiliation. Please, don't   
thank us; it was the least we could do.  
  



End file.
